


Witnesses

by lobotomycastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Coitus Interruptus, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Marriage, Non-Explicit Smut, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobotomycastiel/pseuds/lobotomycastiel
Summary: Dean and Cas being very obviously in-love for 3,000 words straight, OR five times people saw Dean and Cas being a couple on accident, and one time it was on purpose.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 241





	Witnesses

**Author's Note:**

> This is fluff. It is pure, tooth-rotting fluff. I have no excuses. I don't even know when in canon this would be, because they have the bunker, but they're on good terms with Crowley, but also Garth and Charlie are there.

Jacob Sadlowski was a waste of a man who peaked in high school, got an AA in “sports communications” from his hometown’s community college, and sold his soul so that he could get promoted to assistant football coach back in ‘97. He’s a pretty generic meatsuit as all things go, perfectly disposable and able to protect the demon inside him from basic threats. The thin layer of security offered by his flesh doesn’t make it any less terrifying to witness an angel’s true form. 

Castiel is pretty infamous down in Hell. No demon wants to run into _any_ angel, lest they get smote (smitten? smited?), but you really don’t want to run into Castiel, because if he’s there, a Winchester or two is sure to follow. Kinda like an omen of death (the process, not the guy, though the horseman is pretty cool once you get to know him). 

The angel in question is currently interrogating him for Crowley’s whereabouts, because the King, Lucifer bless his mangled soul, has gone and pissed off Castiel’s pet humans. Jacob can see past the unassuming vessel that Castiel’s crammed himself into, and look at the light beneath. It hurts his eyes to stare at it for too long, and he really, really does not like how there’s no mouth but hundreds of eyes and hands on that thing. Their unfeeling gaze bores into him, and if he had any humanity left, he’d start repenting for sins he didn’t even commit. 

Castiel’s vessel’s arm moves slightly, and he sees the angel blade, a flash of silver. Well, looks like they’ve reached the torture part of the evening. “My safeword is Parmasean,” he says weakly, but when Castiel does nothing but step closer, he resigns himself to death. It’s been a fun run; he got to irrevocably corrupt a bunch of people, ruin some lives, have _tons_ of sex, y’know, the simple pleasures of afterlife. What more could a demon ask for? 

The tip of the blade presses into his throat, and just as he starts to say his first Hail Beelzebub, he’s saved. By Castiel’s idiot human boyfriend walking into the room. 

“Cas! What the hell is this?” the Winchester says, and Jacob cranes his neck from where he’s stuck in the Devil’s Trap to see a-- pile of laundry? What kind of new-age psychological soft-torture are they trying on him?

“Dean, can this wait? I’m in the middle of something.” Even as he says it, Castiel removes the blade from his throat, and Jacob takes in greedy gulps of air. He doesn’t even need to breathe, but the repetitive action calms him down. 

“Yeah, and _I_ was in the middle of cooking dinner when Sam tells me that the _laundry_ isn’t done, so he can’t wash his sheets, and that’ll throw off the entire chores schedule for the week, so do the damn laundry!” Dean shoves the hamper into Castiel’s hands, and Jacob sees the flaming rings around his central eye flare in anger. He wants nothing more than to tell Dean Winchester to shut the hell up before he gets them both killed, but he can’t seem to control his vocal cords. 

“Oh for the love of… sometimes I regret pulling you out of Hell, you know that?” 

“Uh huh, you tell me every day, sweetcheeks. Laundry, _now_.” Dean leaves, and Castiel trails behind him, all eight of his wings standing on end in annoyance. 

“Hey! Hey, what about me? Huh? Don’t you wanna know where Crowley is?” He calls out, but neither of them answer. Instead, the metal door of their interrogation room slams shut, leaving him alone in the dark. Fuck. 

* * *

When Sam and Dean roll up to Patricia Keaton’s front door in John’s car, she runs outside to greet them. She sees Dean get out first, and pulls him down for a hug. _Damn,_ that boy grew like a weed. 

“Dean Winchester! It has been too long! Come in, come in, I got coconut cake, iced tea, and some info on the coven that’s in the next town over. I could use a hand finishing off all three.” She ushers him inside, trusting that Sam will follow. She has a lot of catching up to do with those two. 

“Trish, always good to see you! This still a no-shoes house?”

“You know it. Coat off, too.” 

Dean obliges, then takes a seat on her floral couch, the exact same spot he used to sit when he was waiting for his father to come back from a hunt. And do other things. “You remember the last time you were here on that couch?” She asks him, and he has the decency to look embarrassed. He remembers. 

“Look, Trish, we needed money, and that calendar shoot gig paid for like, _six_ days at the motel, plus a whole thing of oatmeal packets--”

“Save it, Mr. August 1995. It took me a whole weekend to get the lavender oil smell out of this room. Now eat something, and where’s that brother of yours?” 

“Sammy? He’s out in Omaha with Garth, something about a wraith.”

“Then who the hell--” she cuts herself off as the dictionary definition of Tax Lawyer walks into her living room, trenchcoat and button-up splattered with dark blood. She draws one of the guns she keeps under her seat cushions, points it at that _thing_ , but Dean gets in between them, holding out his hands placatingly. 

“Woah, Trish, calm down, this is uh. How do I explain?” 

“My name is Castiel, Mrs. Keaton, I’m an angel of the Lord. Dean, I need to clean my angel blade.” And with that, ‘Castiel’ takes out a long, silver knife covered in the same dark blood as on his coat, and wipes it on Dean’s t-shirt. Well, what can she say to that?

“Did you leave your manners up in Heaven or something?” She drops the gun, but still eyes him warily. 

“Am I doing something wrong?” Castiel finishes wiping the blade off, then studies Dean’s face. “You were hurt. Hold still,” and with a flash of white light, the small cut on Dean’s cheek closes up, the skin good as new. Guess he wasn’t lying about the angel thing. And the way Dean lets him get close… he doesn’t even let his own brother live out of his pockets like that. Which has to mean one thing. 

“Goddamn, Deanie. Explains why I could never set you up with a nice girl from around here.” 

“What? No, it’s not like that. I was fine with the girls, more than fine, but uh. Cas and I are. We have a. Cas, you tell her.”

“A profound bond.” That’s one way to say _practically married_ , and honestly? She can’t be anything except happy for Dean. She spent too many years afraid of Dean growing up to be a little hellraiser, too handsome and smart for his own good, and calloused from how John treated him. Maybe this Castiel fellow will be what he needs. 

“I always knew that you’d find someone special. Just didn’t think it’d take a literal angel to get you to settle down. Now both of you get to work on this case, I’m about ninety-percent sure that the coven’s base of operation is located _here_ \--”

* * *

“Yeah man, I’ll be there in a few da-- DEAN! What the fuck? We _eat there_. Garth, I gotta go.” Sam hangs up and watches helplessly as his brother and Cas scramble to put their pants on and pretend they weren’t trying to bang on top of their main table. God, he needs to move out. 

Cas recovers first, clearing his throat. “We thought you were coming back tomorrow.”

“Do I wanna know how many times you two have done that out here?”

“Don’t be a homophobe, Sammy,” Dean says, because ever since he ‘discovered’ homophobia jokes, he’s been a jackass about it. 

“You know what, Dean?”

Dean gives him a shit-eating grin, not even pretending to be embarrassed. “What?” 

“I-- I love and support you on your journey towards self-acceptance, that’s what. Jerk. And use a condom.” 

“Bitch. C’mon, Cas, let’s take this to my bedroom. Always wanted to say that.”

Both of them make their walks of shame, and he calls Garth back. “Hey, sorry about that.” 

“It’s all good. Dean bring some chick back to your bunker? Really?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Have you met Cas?”

“Cas…? Got a last name for me?”

“It’s just Cas. Well, Castiel. You know, the angel?” Wait. Has Garth even met Cas yet?

  
  
“Angels are _real?_ ” Oops. “Well, damn! Not just some chick, a real-live angel! Is she hot? Wait, no, that’s your brother’s girlfriend, bro code and all that, haha, _literally_ bro code, because. I’ll shut up now.” 

And now he’s faced with an impasse. Does he correct Garth and out Dean before he’s ready? Or does he say nothing and effectively straight-wash his own brother? How does he be a good ally in this situation? 

“Sam?” He’s been quiet for too long. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Say something, Winchester!

“Uhhh.” Those four years at Stanford and his stint on the mock trial team apparently did nothing for his ability to carry a conversation. And being elected Vice President of the LGBT + Allies Student Union taught him nothing about how to navigate something like this. 

“You sound fried as hell, man. Get some rest, and meet me in Akron, alright?” 

“Alright, Garth. Take care.” They both hang up, and Sam gets up to grab something, anything, to disinfect the table with. When he comes back, he hears it. And he knows that out of everything he’s witnessed since he hopped into the Impala back in 2005 with Dean, this is the one thing that’ll haunt him for the rest of his life. 

“Ohmygod, _fuck_ , harder, harder, angel, harder!” 

“ _Shh_ , Dean, keep it down, Sam’s outside.” 

Yeah. He really, really needs to move out. And invest in some brain-bleach while he’s at it. 

* * *

_Messenger: (3) new Notifications!_

**Video_04.mov**

**shfjdskgh girl help look at the feds that showed up at my job!!!**

**are they… you know…**

Katie checks her phone to see a text from her Melanie, who’s not even supposed to be at work right now, because there was a fucking _murder_ at her dad’s gas station two days ago. The video she sent finishes loading, and meaningless tidbits of drama seem more interesting than AP Lang Comp, so whatever. She hits play, and sees two agents talking about the open investigation in the chips aisle. 

_“Cas, you sure you’re gonna be okay on this case? It’s been a while, and--”_

_“I’m fine, Dean, don’t worry about me. Are_ you _going to be okay? Having me here?”_ And the one in the tan trenchcoat brushes a strand of hair out of the taller one’s face. Oh yeah, they’re for sure gay. She texts her girlfriend back. 

**absolutely 100% constructing intricate rituals**

**RIGHT!!!!**

**i’m not crazy i’m not**

**youre a little crazy**

**shut up you love me**

**regrettably yes**

**btw i made reservations at that italian place u like**

**for our six month anniversary**

**aw babe!!! thats pretty gay of you ngl**

**it was pretty gay of you to say yes to me soooooooo :/**

With that, Katie deletes the chat history so her dad can’t see it when he does his weekly phone check, and shuts her phone off for the night. She needs to get this essay done, and thinking about how she wishes she was eighteen already and could run away from her family with Melanie will only drive her nuts. 

She can’t stop replaying the video in her head over and over again, though. It’s ridiculous to be jealous of two guys she doesn’t even know that are like twice her age, but she _is_. They get to have the casual PDA she can’t. They get to be free. 

Deep breaths. It’s fine. Two more years of dealing with her dad’s bullshit, and then she’ll have her chance. Her and Mel will get there. 

* * *

Todd County, Kentucky isn’t exactly the highlight of gay nightlife, and it’s only gotten worse over the years, so when the hottest guy he’s ever seen walks into his bar, which happens to be the one gay bar in a fifty mile radius, well, Cole figures he kinda has to shoot his shot. 

“Hey there, handsome, what can I get for you?” 

And Mr. Sin On Legs With Green Eyes And Sharp Cheekbones crushes his dreams immediately with those dreaded four words. “I have a boyfriend.” Why is _everyone_ taken? What’s that saying? Gay people don’t have friends, they have exes they’re on good terms with? _Ugh._ But still, there’s no boyfriend in sight, so he keeps going. Maybe it was a ruse. 

“Where is this mysterious boyfriend, then? He leave you all alone?”

“No, he’s here. Hello, Dean.” Oh, what the fuck? How is this fair? Green Eyes, _Dean,_ is a Todd County 13 on the 1-10 scale, and he’s shacking up with… an accountant? 

Cole considers himself above stereotypes, but this is bullshit. He’s a fucking _actor_ , well, part-time, and he’s single, meanwhile this guy who looks like his twice-divorced uncle landed an unbelievably hot piece of ass. This is why he’s an atheist; any benevolent God wouldn’t let this happen. 

He shifts back into customer service mode. Professionalism, he’s heard of it. “Well. My apologies, then. What can I get for you two gentlemen?”

“I’ll take a whiskey, no ice, and Cas can have whatever comes with a tiny umbrella.” Cas takes a seat next to Dean and scooches the barstool closer, and Dean does the same. 

Right. Because of course they have to be a cutesy couple too. He brings them their drinks, going light on the rum for _Cas_ , which doesn’t sound like a real name, and his Blue Hawaii. It’s petty, but he can’t help it. If Cas gets to have Dean, then he gets to pay more for less alcohol. Then, he finds Denise, and asks her to take over Dean and Cas’ tab. 

“You sure?” She asks. He hasn’t asked her to cover for him since Liam broke up with him a year ago, and _ouch_ , he’d thought that part of him stopped hurting at the thought of Liam’s name and face. Guess he was wrong.  
  


“Positive. They seem like they’ll tip well, by the way.” 

He heads out to his car and takes himself to his apartment. What a disaster. Time to go drown himself in cookie dough ice cream and New Girl reruns. And maybe re-download Grindr and try to find someone with green eyes.

* * *

“And do you, featherbrain, take Squirrel to be your lawfully wedded male wife?” 

“Crowley.” 

“What? You asked me to officiate, I’m an ordained priest of the Satanic church and these are our vows!”

Castiel suppresses the urge to smite the demon in front of him. “I do.” 

“Perfect. Now, with this ring, I thee wed, yadda yadda yadda, you may kiss your bride.” 

It took them a whole month to find the king of Hell, and another two weeks to convince him that no, it wasn’t a trap, they just wanted their wedding officiated and they, in a complete shock, don’t actually know any other priests. And then _another_ three weeks until the paperwork came in saying that Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak were official, card-carrying members of the LaVey Church of Satan and could have a religious ceremony in any one of their temples. 

Their wedding party is small; Sam is Dean’s best man, and Hannah is Castiel’s. Garth, Charlie, and a few demons that Crowley insisted on inviting as ‘payment’ are on Dean’s side of the aisle, and a couple of angels are on his, with a scattering of goths and libertarians that happened to be in the temple that day as well. He suspects that they’re mostly there for the food. 

He and Dean share their first kiss as a married couple, and there’s a cacophony of whistles, cheers, and cat-calls from their witnesses. The rest of the evening passes in a blur. 

Getting their photograph taken, his face aching from smiling so much. Crowley shoving Dean’s face into a slice of cake. Sam talking about Dean’s brief modelling career during his best man’s speech. Dean aggressively tackling his brother to make him shut up about his modelling career. Laughter from everyone. 

He does remember the drive home, though. Dean got champagne-drunk at the reception and kept screaming “I get the same dick forever, Sammy! Same dick! _Forever!_ You all wish you were me!” and tried to pick a fight with one of Crowley’s guests, so clearly he was in no state to get behind the wheel. Castiel drives them back to the bunker, and carries Dean to their bed. _Their_ bed, what a lovely phrase. 

“Bedtime, Dean.” 

“But… but we’re married!” 

“Yes, we are. But _you’re_ drunk, and you need to sleep it off. _Bedtime_.” 

“C’mon, Cas! Don’t you wanna see why they call me Mr. August ‘95? _And_ Mr. April ‘03?” Dean tries to pull him into bed, but Castiel shoves him back down, getting up to get their pajamas. 

“Trust me, I’ve seen plenty. You’ve got a lot of virtues, but chastity’s never been one of them.” 

“Kinky. Can we have God-approved sex now?” 

Castiel ignores him and changes into his night robe, then helps his lug of a husband get into his sweatpants and t-shirt. The whole time, Dean fights him, grumbling about how Castiel is the worst and how they’re getting a divorce in the morning. 

“Sure we are. Now go to bed, husband.” 

“I’m doing this because I want to, not because you told me to,” is the last thing Dean says before Castiel hears him snoring lightly. He climbs under the covers, and falls asleep next to the man he married today. It’s perfect. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated! Come hang out with me on tumblr at [@earth1610s](https://earth1610s.tumblr.com)!


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